Thirty Days Without the Moonstone

I folded the Healer's diagnosis and pushed it under my worn mattress. *Irreversible soul decay. Remaining lifespan: thirty days.* The Healer offered to put the cause on record: prolonged life-force extraction. I had him seal the original and give me this copy. If Caspian found it before I left, he would order one more vial and call the damage necessary. The door opened before I could lower the blanket. Hero Alpha Caspian entered with snow on his boots and the smell of pine on his coat. He pulled off his riding gloves beside the sterile tray and set them on the small table, in the exact spot I usually kept clear for the equipment. For half a second, he stared at the empty space beside the tray. Then his eyes returned to the needle. I had prepared that tray for him since I was old enough to understand his curse. I laid out the cloth, boiled the instruments and held the vials steady even after my fingers began to shake. His gaze lingered on the bare spot beside the tray. It never reached my hand. “Isabella needs her energy potion. Don't make this difficult.” I held out my arm. This would be the last vial he took from me. My skin had gone pale enough for every blue vein to show. Caspian did not check. He had no idea that the silver in my blood also fed the Great Ward around his territory. Everyone in Ashford credited the century-old barrier to Caspian's strength and Isabella's purity. Each extraction sent another thread of my life into its foundation. By the time I found the connection, ten years of damage had already been done. The needle went in. Victoria, my mother, stopped in the doorway and watched the vial fill. “Be grateful, Seraphina. Alpha Caspian is the reason a fallen Alpha's whelps still have a roof. Your blood is the only useful thing about you. Remember that.” Silver moved through the red inside the glass, visible only to me. For ten years, I had called this payment for my father's sins. With thirty days left, I was done lying to myself. After my father's fall, Victoria taught me to treat pain as rent. Stay quiet, and the pack might accept us. Give enough, and Caspian might one day see more than a Colton debt. Caspian pulled the needle and pressed cloth over the puncture. Isabella arrived before the bleeding stopped, wrapped in white fox fur. “Caspian, this part of the pack house is freezing. How does she stand it?” She spotted the moonstone at my throat. My late grandmother had given it to me. It was my last possession from her and the only artifact that eased the abyss curse in my soul. The stone warmed whenever the black veins reached my collar. Some nights I slept with both hands around it until the burning passed. Isabella had seen me do that once. Isabella stepped closer. “What a pretty stone. It looks so warm.” She held a hand toward Caspian and made her lower lip tremble. “My blood feels thin today. The Healer said my core temperature needs stabilizing.” Caspian glanced at my neck. “Give it to her.” I covered the stone with my fingers. “No.” His jaw tightened. One step put him within reach, and his hand closed around the chain. He tore it off. The silver links cut my neck. Heat vanished with the stone, and the curse burned cold through my chest. Black veins spread above my collar and reached for my jaw. I caught the edge of the bed before my legs gave way. The cloth over my arm fell to the floor, and blood ran from the puncture to my wrist. Caspian never looked at the marks. He fastened the broken chain around Isabella's neck while she smiled up at him. The moonstone dimmed against her skin. It had been made for my bloodline; the pack Healer could have told him that. Caspian only adjusted the chain until it lay neatly over Isabella's fur. “Thank you, brother. You always know what's best for me.” She kissed his cheek. At the door, he looked back. “Don't disappoint me again, Seraphina.” The latch clicked behind them. I took the exile form from beneath the mattress and signed my name beside the bed.